Now it is easy to assume that a cuckolding wife - especially one who forces her husband to watch the infidelity - is by nature dominant: Deb is, after all, imposing her will on me, forcing me to acquiesce in the realization of her whims. But that would be a wrong assumption; or at least partly wrong. All of us have conflicting needs and desires, all of us have a little of the submissive and a little of the dominant within us. Some choose to suppress certain urges and concentrate on those which are stronger, while others indulge each equally; and others yet sublimate their desires in fantasy.

And so it is with Deb.

All her life, while she has fulfilled a sexually dominant role - first with me and latterly with her string of conquests - she has fantasized about submission. She has harbored thoughts of being used, abused, turned into a subservient slave to a group of powerful people and made to satisfy their every demand. Often, we have lain in bed, her hand rested provocatively on my flaccid cock, relating the details of her fantasy.

And now I have made it come true.

It's her birthday treat, and she doesn't know it yet. She left half an hour ago, on her way, she thought, to another rendezvous with Dave and Angie. They phoned - 'out of the blue', or so Deb thinks - telling her that Tuesday evening's session was so good they wanted to relive it. 'At our place, without Bob in tow. We plan some real kinky stuff. Best he doesn't see. You can tell him about it later.'

And with an invitation like that, how could Deb - the sex goddess - refuse?

Ha ha.

Bob. What a guy. What a husband. What a bastard. What a darling. I just love him. And when I get hold of him I'm going to whip his ass.

Imagine! Him playing a trick on me. Him coming up with a sexy plan, not me. Makes no sense, but go figure, he did it.

He set me up.

Dave and Angie rang, told me how good the other night was, said they wanted a repeat. Without Bob there: 'We want to do some kinky stuff,' Dave said. Well, was I going to turn up a chance like that? No, mister. So I turned up at their apartment, dressed as requested. Bob had helped me with it, as usual - he makes such a good dresser, bless him. High cut, white panties, plain lycra, and a half cup bra in matching white. Hold up stockings and a black skirt so short you could almost see my bare skin at the top of the stockings. And a tight blouse, white and practically transparent, to finish the ensemble. A 'slut's outfit', Bob called it, smiling.

When I rang the doorbell, Dave answered with a curious look on his face, all lecherous and hopeful. I put it down to the outfit, gave him a big kiss and walked through to the living room. Angie was seated on the settee, her arm draped across it and a glass of champagne in her hand, dressed up like a glamour model, with a long, billowing skirt and Janet Reger blouse. And she had a curious expression too. It was as though she was seeing me for the first time, or seeing something different in me. I was confused.

I moved towards the settee to sit next to her, but as I did she deliberately stretched herself across its length, staring at me provocatively. She had ensured there was no room for me beside her and I was left standing, feeling foolish, in front of her. What the hell was going on?

Dave appeared behind me, and I saw that he, too, now held a glass of champagne. I looked at his other hand, expecting to see one for me, but I was disappointed. He grinned, and again I caught a glimpse of something different about his expression. I watched, perplexed, as he walked across to the settee. Immediately, Angie moved over and allowed him to take a seat next to her. Her movements were very precise, as though to draw attention to the difference in her response to Dave and to me. The two huddled close, each taking a sip of champagne, and stared at me. I felt completely out of place, embarrassment rippling across my face.

"So, Deb," Dave drawled. "How are you?"

"Okay, I guess."

"You look a little uncomfortable there. Why don't you take a seat?" I looked round the room. Normally, there was an armchair and a stool beside the window. Both were gone. There was nowhere to sit.

"Would if I could."

"There's always the floor."

"Huh?"

"Floor. Sit."

What the hell? Who was he to snap at me like that?

"Come on," said Angie, waving her glass at me imperiously. "Relax, settle down, chill."

Still bemused by the way the day was progressing, I folded myself to the floor. It wasn't easy, in such a short, tight skirt, but eventually I settled myself into position. Sitting beneath them, looking up at their grinning faces and their champagne glasses, I felt a mixture of foolishness and anger.

"Okay," I said finally, "what's going on here?"

"Been chatting with Bob," replied Dave slowly. He stared at me as he spoke, as though daring me to interrupt. "Yeah, had a good old chat with him yesterday. He was delighted with the way the other night went. Really enjoyed it. Said you did, too." I nodded, but didn't speak. "And he said it was your birthday today. Said he wished the session the other night had been tonight, so it could be special for your birthday." I smiled briefly. Bob, what a sweetie, so thoughtful. "So, I'm like: 'no problem, we can do it again.' He was really keen on that idea. 'Tell me what she likes,' I asked him. 'What?' he goes. 'What does she like?' I say again. He looks at me like I'm crazy. 'You know what she likes, guy, you've done it all with her.' Now sure enough, honey, I've seen every inch of that little body of yours, been everywhere, done everything." I blushed, despite myself. "'But there must be something she hasn't done?' I say to him. 'Some fantasy? Something just the two of you have talked about.'"

I went cold at that point. My mouth went dry. I began to piece things together, and I didn't like the picture I was seeing.

"And sure enough, he told me one. Told me one of little Deb's favorite fantasies." Dave drained his champagne from the glass and idly tossed it to the floor. "And what do you think that might be?"

I remained silent. Dave and Angie, from their vantage point, loomed over me, staring hard, provoking me, threatening me.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"No," I whispered hoarsely.

"So, tell me, what is this great fantasy of yours? And while you're doing it, spread those legs for me so I can see your little panties." He said it in such a matter of fact way, like he was asking the time. I began to feel intimidated, out of control. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and something - I have no idea what - compelled me to do as he asked. Slowly, I slid round on my ass until I was squarely in front of them. Sliding my foot across the floor, I began to part my legs, my skirt riding up my thigh, until my panties were in view. Even though we had been intimate only two nights before, I felt incredibly exposed, seated like that beneath them.

Dave nodded. "'Bout time, honey. You better get used to obeying, 'cause that's what you're gonna do for the rest of the night. Isn't it?"

I nodded. God, yes. I was terrified, but at the same time I was tremendously excited. Waves of trepidation were fluttering through my stomach and abdomen. This was my birthday treat from Bob. The bastard. I was going to be used.

"Yes," I said.

"Good girl. Now, let's make a start. Pick up that glass, girl, and take it into the kitchen. Get it washed. Damned place is untidy. And since you're down on the floor you may as well stay there. Into the kitchen - on your hands and knees 3;"